


the burning end of a midnight cigarette

by stellargay



Series: The Great Akeshu Songfic Extravaganza [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drinking, Drug Abuse, Heavy Angst, M/M, Songfic, Suicide, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, major suicide warning, sadfic, this made me cry while writing it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:48:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25391884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellargay/pseuds/stellargay
Summary: He put that bottle to his head and pulled the triggerAnd finally drank away his memoryLife is short but this time it was biggerThan the strength he had to get up off his knees.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: The Great Akeshu Songfic Extravaganza [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827856
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	the burning end of a midnight cigarette

**Author's Note:**

> This has major mentions of suicide and major character death, so please be advised that this fic may not be for everyone. If you or someone you know is dealing with thoughts of suicide, please don't be afraid to seek out help.

What they had was special. At least, to Akira it was. All those months leading up to November, he kept hoping, praying, wishing, for the tide to turn. He hoped all those months of offering his heart and body on the altar of desire would stem Goro's plans. 

Not that he was purposely misleading Goro in favor of saving his own life. Not at all. Akira is pathetic enough to have fallen in love with his murderer-to-be. All those days, all those nights, they meant something to Akira. He craved Goro's maroon eyes, his careful smirk, and those rare nights where he revealed himself a bit more openly, showing off Goro Akechi's true colors. That is, the true colors that lay dormant beneath the pain and bitterness that was knee-deep under the polite smiles and charming chuckles. 

Every date, whether it be up at the billiards place, sharing drinks while a woman sings smooth jazz in English behind them, or those nights just spent hanging out in Akira's attic or Goro's apartment, watching movies, eating junk food, and laughing together.

And those nights...

Those nights he craved most of all, the nights when Goro openly voiced his desire and passion in the form of hungry kisses, fingers pressed hard enough to bruise pale skin, riding out their bliss within gasps and moans and whispers of each other's names. 

Akira holds those nights close to his chest. Those nights when he whispered soft "I love you"s in Goro's ear, and watching as Goro's expressions twisted in pain minutely before settling on a careful, but seemingly genuine, smile before returning the sentiment. 

But apparently those words were a lie. Goro Akechi himself was a complete lie, and Akira Kurusu was paying for those lies. 

He stares down the barrel of the silencer on Goro's gun, chest twisting painfully as he desperately holds on to those memories, even in the face of Goro's twisted smirk, his cold and uncaring words. 

Akira wishes that Futaba wouldn't have been able to activate the metaverse just before Goro shot him. As it is, his vision distorts for just a minute, Akechi's leering face disappearing just before Goro cocked the gun. 

And Goro is apparently none the wiser. 

Akira sits in the interrogation room of the metaverse, chest aching until he can't take it anymore. He gets up abruptly, the folding chair he's been sitting in falling backward with a clatter, and puts his hands to his hair and pulls, screaming out his agony alone as he falls to his knees. 

\---

Akira is safe in the comfort of Leblanc's attic, but at what cost? 

He doesn't sleep much. Every time he closes his eyes he sees Goro's sneer as he tells Akira that his justice was all for naught. 

He doesn't speak much, either, but the others don't notice that too much. After all, Akira is typically a man of few words. It's not their fault that Akira never told them about his love for Goro. None of them ever knew of those days, those nights. If Morgana suspected, he never said a word. 

Akira feels completely isolated, alone with pain so bad he wants to rip out his chest and scream until his vocal chords fray and snap. 

His thief skills start to come in handy in the real word. Akira slips out in the dead of the night, slipping over to a bar not far from Leblanc and sneaking in to grab bottles of alcohol. He doesn't bother to check what kind. He just grabs as much as he can hold on to without dropping them. 

He spends all the money he has covertly at Takemi's clinic, buying far more first aid items than the team will ever need. 

And he holes himself up in his little attic space, day after day and night after night, consuming bottles full of liquor until his vision swims and his mind goes blissfully hazy. 

It doesn't help completely. 

When he wakes up the next morning, hung over and with tear marks on his face he doesn't remember crying, the pain is still there. The raw agony of what Goro did to him. He took Akira's heart and soul, cradling it for a time, before squeezing it into a tight fist until it disappeared like so many shadows Akira has killed before. Goro broke his heart, shattered it like ice, and though the self-medication helps in the moment, in the morning Akira is faced with the same wrenching truth. 

Goro never loved him. He used Akira. He fooled Akira. He played with Akira like a spider plays with the captors in its web. He took every bit of Akira and ruined it, ruined him.

Akira doesn't know how much longer he can hold on. 

He doesn't talk to his friends and fellow thieves. Akira is usually the one they rely on, the strong leader who knows every answer. He's the listener, the rock on which the team is built. But Akira feels like a house of cards upon that rock. He goes through the motions of every day, pasting fake smiles on his lips as they make their way through Shido's palace. 

Slaying shadow after shadow helps a bit, but that too, is only a temporary fix for a permanent problem. 

Akira becomes reckless, running into danger without thought and hurting his fellow teammates, who start to finally realize that something is terribly wrong with their leader. 

But none of them know what to do about it. Akira clams up whenever anyone speaks to him, averting his eyes and deflecting their questions. Unknowingly, their kind words make Akira feel worse. He's supposed to be the strong one, offering a shoulder to his friends, not the other way around. It makes him feel like a failure. 

The final straw comes deep in the bowels of Shido's palace, a face-off with Goro one more time. Seeing Goro's dark eyes, full of hatred, undoes Akira. His reckless words slice through Akira's heart. But the way he pirouettes at the end, resolving to save Akira and the others through his own sacrifice and smiling bleakly at Akira before pointing his gun at him, is truly what pushes Akira over the edge. Goro's eyes fill with tears and an emotion so clear that it strangles Akira's throat and makes him reach out too late before the watertight door shuts between them.

The minute they hear the gunshots from beyond the thick steel wall, Akira leans his head to the cold metal and slumps to his knees. 

He's dead. 

Goro Akechi is dead. 

And with him goes the last of Akira's shattered heart. 

That night, ignoring the group chat and harshly demanding that Morgana go to spend the night with Futaba, Akira makes his choice. He scribbles a note on a scrap piece of paper, holding it tightly to his chest as he takes pill after pill, chasing each down with shots of whiskey and vodka. 

Death comes slowly, but Akira welcomes it. Finally, he's able to drink away Goro's memory, unable to summon the strength to get off his knees. He breathes his last in a hazy stupor, hoping he will see Goro on the other side. 

When Morgana comes back the next morning, he finds Akira, cold and stiff, kneeling by his little futon bed with a piece of paper clutched to his chest, with only a few words written on it. 

_Watashi wa shinu made kare o aishiteimasu_

_I will love him until I die._

  
\---

**Game over.**

\---

The phantom thieves bury Akira in the Aoyama cemetery on Christmas Eve, underneath a stark and bare cherry blossom tree. Among the mourners there are Akira's many friends and confidants, who are ashen-faced and stunned. No one ever could have thought that Akira Kurusu, unassuming, confident, and quiet, would kill himself. 

Gradually, the mourners begin to ease away from the fresh grave, offering quiet remarks to the little band of teenagers who are suffering the most. How could they have missed this? Why hadn't they tried hard to reach Akira's walled-off heart? How had they never known of Goro and Akira and what they shared? 

Their solemn pallor continues until they all go back to Leblanc together, seven remaining Phantom Thieves out of...nine. The atmosphere in the small cafe is hushed, each member wearing black, with a bit of red to honor Akira's rebellious will. 

As they are sitting quietly, each with a mug of coffee that has grown cold with no one able to bear taking a sip, the bell over the door rings. Eight heads turn in unison, stunned to see Goro Akechi, alive and windblown, standing in the doorway. 

\---

Goro Akechi sits at the bar of a seedy joint in Shinjuku, tuning out a dark-haired woman's slurring rants and the quiet, comforting words of the woman behind the bar. He's on his fifth shot of whiskey, maroon eyes dull and unfocused. 

When he had found himself back in his little apartment in Musashino, apparently alive and well save for a bullet scar in his chest, Goro had taken time to take stock of himself. He was being offered a second chance at life, to fix every regret he had, and the top priority on that list was Akira. 

Beautiful Akira, with his unruly hair and thousand-watt smile, and eyes that held every emotion and yet none at all. Darling Akira, with his big heart and bigger aspirations. He had taken on the burdens of everyone he met, and shouldered all of his own besides. 

Akira. 

_Akira._

_**Akira.** _

Pain sings through Goro's chest, causing him to fold in on himself for a moment as he recalls those granite eyes, always dancing with mischief and lips always ready with a witty remark. And the pain makes him recall that night a few months ago...

\---

He'd left his apartment immediately, feet taking him straight to Cafe Leblanc. 

What he'd found there was surreal. 

The somber faces of seven phantom thieves, eyes red-rimmed and voices choked with grief. Their accusing eyes and clipped answers, unwilling to give Goro any information until finally Haru took pity, and quietly told him that Akira is dead. There was no doubt it was a suicide. 

Goro had choked on his own spit from the quick breath he'd sucked in, the shattering truth a knife in his chest. He had concealed his shock well. At least he'd assumed so, until Futaba, before leaving the cafe with the others, quietly handed Goro a small, wrinkled slip of paper. 

"Mona found this in Akira's hand when he found him." She said dully, eyes devoid of emotion, as if her tears had washed away her ability to do anything but blink wearily. "I think you should have it."

He waited until everyone had closed the door behind him, Sojiro leaving with the group, his shoulders sagging as if he'd aged thirty years within a few days.   
His feet carried him upstairs, to Akira's little attic home. He stood in the stairwell and looked across the room. Everything was still in its place. Gifts from Akira's friends lined the shelves, his laundry was hanging from the line strung across the rafters, and what looked like bits of cork for an infiltration project lay abandoned on the desk. The comforter on the bed was thrown back haphazardly, the way Akira always left it after waking up. 

There was a spot on the floor by the bed where it looks like the wood was heavily bleached and scrubbed, and nausea crashed over Goro in a wave as he realized this is likely the spot where Morgana found Akira, dead and alone. He knelt next to this spot, leaning heavily against the meager mattress on top of the crates, and with shaking hands, opened the piece of paper. 

Pain sliced through Goro as if a shadow had just used a Rising Slash against him, downing him immediately as he began to sob, burying his face in the futon and sobbing harder when he realized the mattress smelled like Akira. 

The paper is clenched in his hand, Akira's last words a testament to his pain, as Goro sobbed loud and hard, unable to contain his grief. 

\---

Goro finishes his shot wearily, pain lancing through his chest as he mutters a thanks and slaps a few yen notes onto the counter before dragging himself out the door. Shinjuku is lit up at night, people all around him, laughing to each other, some holding hands, some stumbling out of bars. No one here knows Akira's name. To the cognition of the crowd here, it's as if Akira Kurusu has never existed. And the very thought makes Goro want to scream in the middle of the crowd, telling them about the boy Goro loved more than life itself, a boy who had the confidence of a lion and a heart as big as the sky.

He takes the long way home, stumbling into the last train of the night and collapsing onto one of the plastic seats. He feels and looks a mess, eyes dull and huge bags under his eyes, hair limp and overgrown, skin dry and flushed. He doesn't care what the news outlets and the talk shows have been saying about him, about how he's let himself go and how he's just a washed-up detective. 

For the most part, he's slid into the shadows since coming back from the dead. He was unsurprised that most people had forgotten about Goro Akechi, Detective Prince after he disappeared from the world. By this point, barely anyone discusses the phantom thieves anymore either. It's as if none of what's happened in the last year ever existed. Such is the fickle nature of humanity's cognition. 

Goro is thankful that he's out of the public eye by now. He holes up in his apartment for days on end, content to wallow in his misery and drinking the nights away. The other thieves occasionally reach out to Goro through text, though understandably, they stay away for the most part. 

After all, it's Goro's fault that Akira Kurusu cut his own life short. 

Goro toyed with him, pulled him around by the nose, whispered pretty little nothings in his ear, and then "killed" him without a second thought. At least, to the Phantom Thieves, that was all it appeared to be.

No one, not even Goro himself at the time, knew how much he cared for and loved Akira. 

Those last few minutes in the hull of Shido's palace made him realize the depths of his emotions. But by the time he realized them, he had already shot past Akira's head and the watertight door had closed. But the look in Akira's eyes, as if in slow-motion, made Goro's heart stutter, blood rushing hot in his ears, and the last thing Goro thought of before meeting his demise was that he loved Akira Kurusu.

It sucks that he only realized that after the fact. 

Goro can only now focus on what could have been. What his life could have been like if he hadn't put a bullet through Akira's head that evening. If he hadn't allowed Shido to manipulate him and use him like a chewtoy. 

Goro could have had the world. 

And now he's alone. Rejected, afraid, alone, with his heart in millions of pieces scattered around him in a deep void. 

Goro reaches for a bottle of whiskey, and then reaches into his bedside table, pulling out a familiar silencer. 

\---

It's lucky that Futaba has Goro's phone still tapped. Even if it's too late by the time she realizes what's happened. 

They find Goro on the bed, face down in the pillow, bled out from a bullet hole precisely where Akira's would have been, his phone clutched in his hand, unlocked. In shock, Yusuke pulls the phone out of Goro's stiff hand and the home screen comes to life, bringing with it image upon image of selfies that Goro must have taken with Akira at different points. There are some of them kissing, some of Goro with no shirt, obviously taken in bed by Akira judging by the framing. Pictures of them cheek to cheek, Akira's eyes shining with joy and Goro's eyes carefully shielded, but behind them is an emotion Goro learned too little too late. 

_Love._

\---

They bury Goro in the Aoyama Cemetery next to Akira, Akira's headstone swapped out for a joint couple's headstone. They used what was left of Akira's Mementos money to purchase the custom headstones, feeling it only right to use Akira's money in that way.

The headstones are white marble, humbly adorned with only the outlines of their masks, Goro's long beaked Venetian, and Akira's birdlike domino. Two gloved hands are joined at the peak, reaching out to grasp each other's, a symbol of their bond. 

Below their names and dates of birth and death are the words most fitting to tell their stories: 

_"I will love him until I die."_

There aren't nearly as many mourners at Goro's graveside, but the Phantom Thieves are there, hearts heavy as they lay bundles of white chrysanthemums, ferns, and red camellias on both graves. 

\---

Somewhere in the afterlife, two fated boys meet again on what appears to be a hazy, white train platform. Akira stands from where he was sitting on a bench, as if waiting for Goro. He holds out his hand for the detective and Goro accepts it. Akira pulls him in for a kiss, lingering for a moment, before they turn and head into the light at the end of the tunnel.

**Author's Note:**

> this was a vent fic that i slammed out in about two hours lol. hopefully this is the only suicide songfic i write for this series. 
> 
> anyways this fic was pretty much completely based on the song Whiskey Lullabye by Brad Paisley. You can find the song here.
> 
> this was unbeta'd and unedited. please excuse any grammar or spelling mistakes.


End file.
